Death can never lose its sting, Whilst we fear time on the wing. I live an example to man and youth, Of patient consistence, brightness, and truth. He who waits for something to turn up, Fills not the platter nor yet the cup. The sun, the source of heat and light, Gives flowers their scent and colour bright. They the thread of life entangle, Who guilty are of endless wrangle. What’s the time? Come, why do you ask? Is it to start or end your task? The thread of life, though thick and strong, Fates shall sever for thee ere long. Who goes early to bed and early to rise, Needs naught but the sun to lighten the skies. Go, live and let live while you’ve power, For life is but a thing of hour. What we sow in time we reap in Eternity, Seek help then Divine, Christian fraternity. No man may ever my hours deride, Who has lost by such, train, horse, or tide. The age of this dial, who can compute it? So hazard no guess for men to refute it. Work so hard to-day that you Will find the morrow with less to do. Like the print of feet on the sand or snow, This shadow reveals where the sun doth go. Remember, an old age shall tell, Of hours misspent and hours lived well. If for you this hour prove late, Do not hesitate or wait. The most important thing on earth Is of time to learn the worth. Valued chances never waste Through thoughtless and imprudent haste. I tell the time of day, ’tis true, Yet mind my business; pray, do you? Time proves our work, so do not try To hide your faults or time defy. Remember when ’tis darkest night, The dawn will shortly be in sight. Hold not Thy hand, grant us’ true light, Let Thy command make all things bright. Thy neighbour’s landmark, so now mind, Who moveth me a curse will find. If, like some, I went the pace, Who would study then my face. A shadow rules our lives sublime, And takes the ancient name of time. Some men delight to weigh the showers, But few attempt to weigh the hours. Wait a moment never say, When hours you mean, or chance the day. Time was made for slaves, men say, Yet free men ask the time of day. Though every hour thou readest well, Thy final hour thou canst not tell. If of life you’d take your fill, Never work another ill. When the hours have ceased to run, ’Tis man, not Time, whose race is done.